Girl Trouble
by Dragonbot v.2.0.1
Summary: Sylar and Mohinder discuss one of the most baffling forces of evolution.


**Girl Trouble**

Even Heroes struggle with the elusive prospect of romance.

* * *

Slow, monotonous tapping provided a dismal backdrop to soft, smooth tones of classical music, _click-clicking _its way into gratingly increased level of repetitiveness. Mohinder struggled with managing a suitable level of patience – a concept that was growing increasingly more elusive with that fateful injection – clutching his cup of chai so tightly that knuckles ached and arm was literally throbbing with tension. Shifting his weight within his chair proved absolutely useless in terms of loosing the band of irritation coiling round his chest, and the geneticist finally snapped, slamming his cup down on the table before them with such force that it shattered completely.

The table, that is. Sylar was suitably displeased, seeing as he'd been rapping out a marvelous interpretation of Beethoven's Fifth on its surface using nothing more than telekinesis and a spoon. The killer (no longer serial, but still rather spontaneous) levered forth a glare that could have taken the head off his counterpart, had circumstances been slightly different. As it was, Sylar refrained from lopping off Mohinder's skull with murderous gusto, telling himself that it was in his long term interest (of being Special) to exercise restraint. Alright, and maybe he was partially intimidated of what he'd actually find there, seeing as the geneticist had gone back to subtly rubbing at one of the numerous patches of scales on his shoulder. What did those things ooze anyway? Slime? Goo? Some kind of insect steroid? Was that the reason the man was now perpetually horny and had gone so far as to hoard people in his lab? Come to think of it, how _did_ Mohinder manage to wrap up his er…_test subjects_…in those nifty cocoons in the first place? Maybe there was a secret web-launcher, like Spiderman. No…no, didn't look like it. Maybe it was hidden…under his shirt? Wait, that didn't make sense. He'd have to strip each time he wanted to bind someone. Completely inefficient. Maybe his pants? Oh, now that was just wrong –

"Will you _please_ stop staring?"

Which was a pretty useless thing to demand of _Sylar_; innately programmed to try and figure out how things worked. Yes, even the things that were probably better left unsaid. Still, the latest addition to Noah's harem of partners decided to play nice for now, smirking and crossing his legs before shifting his gaze back to Mohinder's face.

"You know, just because you're having a bad day doesn't mean you get to take it out on everyone else. I mean, look at what happened with Nathan and Tracy. Did you even get round to explaining why you tried to experiment on them?"

All the irritation seemed to bleed out of Mohinder in one sudden rush, deflating that hostile demeanor with such rapidity that even Sylar was taken back. Briefly. Then he was just amused, because Mohinder had lapsed into looking utterly woebegone, burying his head in his hands and sighing morosely.

"I suppose I'll never know what went wrong. I mean, Maya called me a monster and demanded I get away from her. And then she said she'd never forgive me. I didn't think I was _that_ terrible."

"She never said that about _me._ Besides, I already offered you a solution to your problem."

Short, sharp exasperation as Mohinder rolled his eyes and looked completely scornful at the smug exemplification of incorrigibility sitting before him.

"I am _not_ going to shoot her."

Sylar merely shrugged in that universal gesture for: _hey; it's your loss._

"It's never happened before. The serum must have changed me in more ways than I anticipated." A sliver of fear, then, as Mohinder averted his gaze and looked momentarily horrified at the prospect of such a future. "What if it's permanent? I really don't know what else to do. I keep telling her my feelings are real, but she wants to see some physical evidence. And I just can't keep it up when I'm with her."

The murderer-turned-agent hovered about a moment of serious contemplation before leaning forward and fixing his – well 'friend' was too generous a word, seeing as he was still getting over the whole skull-slamming incident…acquaintance, maybe? – with a curious look.

"Did you try Viagra?"

"Twice. It didn't work. And neither did porn. Tracy was so pissed when I asked. Froze my arm right on the spot, though I think she was aiming a little lower."

"That's because you have no concept of discretion. I bet you asked her directly. And in front of Nathan as well."

"I might have. What's wrong with that?"

Sylar just laughed. An aggravating cackle that made Mohinder want to dump hot tea right onto his crotch.

"I think it's time to accept a fact of life, Mohinder. Romance is one ability you just aren't ready for yet."

"You're one to talk, _Gabriel_. At least I don't take my dates to a prison facility to see my comatose mother. You're such a mommy's boy."

"...Shut up. My mother loves me."


End file.
